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by Saber_Wing



Category: Avengers Assemble (Cartoon), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Family, Avengers Feels, Bilgesnipe (Marvel), Broken Bones, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve and old-timey pet names give me life, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump, change my mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 08:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20888828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing
Summary: Desperately, he reached back and grasped for the carving knives on the block behind him, because damned if he was going down without a fight. Then the bilgesnipe's razor sharp teeth clamped down harder on Tony's leg, and this time, he heard something crack. All rational thought fled with it.Tony's vision went white. He thought he might have screamed, but he couldn't be sure.Oh god, it hurt. Fuck, fuck, fuck-Thor really should learn to keep Bilgey in his room.





	Home

Somebody was making an ungodly amount of noise. The moment Tony stepped out of his lab, he heard it. Probably Hulk and Thor, carrying on like savages upstairs. But that didn't change his immediate plans. Tony wasn't anywhere near done with his current project. He needed caffeine, or he was going to drop, and someone would die. Not necessarily in that order.

Tony kept telling himself that as he stumbled his way to the communal kitchen, eyes half-lidded, rubbing his temple with a thumb. He fumbled the cabinet open and grasped blindly for his favorite mug. He was still leaning up against the countertop, waiting for the sweet, life-giving nectar of the Gods, when a very expensive sounding crash echoed from around the corner. He heard bounding footsteps coming closer, and Tony looked up just in time to see Thor's terrifying pet bilgesnipe charging toward him.

His very _angry_ looking bilgesnipe. 

_Uh-oh._

Okay. Tony could work with this. He was not panicking right now. He was a genius. He could figure this out. It was fine. Everything was fine.

Tony wished he had his gauntlets. He also wished he'd listened _any_ time Thor talked about 'Bilgey,' because he didn't know the first thing about the creature. What he did know was, it had bladed nightmares for teeth, and they were gaping out of its mouth as it leaped toward him. He was also positive he would not enjoy having his face shredded.

Did Thor's choice in pet really have to be a literal fucking _behemoth?_

The creature paused in its assault just long enough to stare Tony down – the little shit – before thundering toward him again, with greater fervor. That was about the moment he regretted his entire existence. Pinned up against the counter with no way out, Tony couldn't have been more trapped. The creature slid right into him and grabbed the first thing it saw, which happened to be his calf. And _fuck _if that wasn't a new level of hell. He cried out as its teeth sank into his flesh, tearing through muscle.

A peal of hysterical laughter exploded from his lips. After everything he'd been through, Tony absolutely refused to believe he was going to be taken down by a mythical creature in the kitchen, wearing pajama pants, in front of his coffee maker.

Desperately, he reached back and grasped for the carving knives on the block behind him, because damned if he was going down without a fight. Then the bilgesnipe's razor sharp teeth clamped down harder on Tony's leg, and this time, he heard something crack. All rational thought fled with it.

Tony's vision went white. He thought he might have screamed, but he couldn't be sure.

Oh god, it _hurt. _Fuck, fuck, _fuck-_

He might have laughed, if he’d had the spare energy. He'd always said he would die for a good cup of joe, but he never meant that literally.

Tony _must _have screamed, or maybe the insane idiots living in his tower heard all the commotion, and finally came to see what the fuss was about. Whatever the reason, every Avenger in existence skidded into the room at once, in various stages of undress. Thor appeared like a flash of lightning, prying the bilgesnipe's teeth from his _fucking leg. _And _God, _he was in _so much _pain, but thank _fuck._

Tony's knees went weak, and he would have sunk to the floor, but Steve was there in a heartbeat, wrapping an arm around his waist and easing him down slowly.

The sight of Thor scolding his two thousand-pound hellhound might have been funny under normal circumstances, but right now, it was taking everything Tony had not to cry. He didn't even want to _look _at his leg. It felt like a slab of raw, eviscerated meat, and probably was.

“Talk to me, Tony. What happened?” Steve tore the fabric of Tony’s pants, prodding the wounds. It must not have been pretty, because he paled as he looked down at them, lips pressed together in a thin, tight line.

Tony laughed, too light-headed and hysterical to clamp down on the shrill edge underlining the words. “I just wanted coffee, and fucking Cujo over there decided he needed a mid-morning snack.”

Steve looked at Tony with soft, compassionate eyes. He brushed the sweaty hair off his forehead, and Tony leaned against him, burying his face in his shirt. His boyfriend's chest was a thing of beauty, and Tony took all excuses to be close to it. It wasn't because he wanted to be held until the world stopped hurting. No way. Not at all.

Someone crouched beside them. Another pair of hands prodded his leg, and Tony peeked out from his Steve cocoon to glimpse a shock of red hair. Natasha.

Her touch was surprisingly gentle as she peeled back the fabric of his pants. And her expression didn't change, but her words were hushed. That alone spoke volumes. “Could be worse, considering, but he needs a hospital.”

“Ugh. How is this my _life?” _And Tony was aware he was whining at this point, but he didn't care. His leg burned like fire, he was sleep deprived, _and _there was a perfectly good cup of liquid goodness on the counter that he'd never get to enjoy.

Steve pressed a gentle kiss to Tony's forehead. He stood up with him in his arms. “Sam, launch the Aven-jet. Clint, get us there. Thor, lock up your _dog_, and for God's sake_, _put a muzzle on him if he can't behave himself.”

“Uh-oh, that's his dad voice,” Clint mock-whispered. “Somebody's in _trouble.”_

Thor, to his credit, looked extremely guilty. He stopped in front of Steve and Tony as he kept one hand on the bilgesnipe's snout.

“My apologies, friends. I do not know how he escaped my room, but we will have words.” The thunder god glared side-long at the bilgesnipe, and Tony _swore _it looked chastised.

It was tame as a kitten _now. Fucking figures._

“I'll table this discussion for now, Thor, but once Tony's taken care of, you and _I _will have words.” Steve turned to Thor. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were hard as he passed him – not hostile, but infinitely displeased. And having Captain America _frown _at you with that amount of disapproval was a fate worse than death.

Seeing Thor so dejected was like watching a golden retriever get kicked. Which meant it was horrible, and must be stopped now, by any means necessary. Tony swatted Steve's shoulder, a little drunkenly. “Leave him alone, he said he was sorry.”

Steve's eyes narrowed. “We can't have an untrained beast wandering the halls, I don't care how sorry he is. Thor, if you can't control your pet, I'll have to ask you to remove him from the tower entirely.”

Tony tried to sit up: as best he could while being carried across the threshold, like a swooning maiden. “Hey, whoa, time out here. Pets are a lifelong commitment, Steve. You can’t just…_get rid _of them.”

Steve shot him a look, incredulous. “When that ‘pet’ is dangerous, and just maimed my best fella, you bet I can.”

“_Lightly _maimed.” Tony took a breath as his leg throbbed, sending sharp shooting pains all the way up his spine. “Very lightly. _Ow._”

Thor's face was grim. He squared his shoulders, gave Steve a tight nod. “Our good captain is correct, friend Tony. Henceforth, I shall take whatever measures I must to see that he behaves himself.”

Oddly enough, Tony felt sorry for the bilgesnipe now. It hung its head and refused to look at them, the picture of dejection. It was like a misbehaving child, caught with its hand in the proverbial cookie jar. If children were two thousand-pound terrors from Asgard, anyway.

Steve nodded back at Thor, fixing him with a steely-eyed stare. “I'm glad we understand each other. This can't happen again. We wouldn't have a home at all if it weren't for Tony. He should feel safe here.”

“He shall come to no further harm from Bilgey. You have my word.”

Tony gritted his teeth as a thousand daggers assaulted him. “If you could all stop referring to _him _in the third person, he'd really _fucking _appreciate it. Also, I'll care about this conversation a whole lot more when my leg doesn't feel like it's about to fall off.”

Steve looked immediately remorseful. He gazed back down at Tony; brows drawn together with worry. “I'm sorry, Tony. This can wait. Avengers, let’s move!”

Tony let his head drop against Steve's collar, riding out the agony as best he could. He had to bite his lip every time Steve's footsteps jarred his wounds, and he hadn't eaten anything all night, but the nausea was getting to him now. He pressed his lips together, not willing to risk losing whatever was left of dinner.

Despite everything, all Tony really wanted was coffee. Preferably with enough morphine on the side to make him forget he _had _legs.

He must have said that last bit out loud, because Steve scoffed. “The morphine can probably be arranged.”

God, the _pain._ Tears stung the backs of Tony’s eyes, and he blinked rapidly, shoved them down as far as he could, because fuck, all he needed now was to humiliate himself, in front of the whole damned family. “I just wanted _coffee.”_

Steve knew. Somehow, he _always _knew. Tony felt him soften as he threaded their fingers together, all too perceptive. “I know.”

“We could still make that happen. There's a Starbucks on the way.”

“Shh…” His boyfriend kissed his forehead, holding him tight.

“What would people say if they knew Captain America denied his poor, wounded boyfriend coffee at-” Tony glanced at his watch. His hands shook. “-nine twenty-three in the morning?”

“Hey.” Steve cut him off, cupping Tony's cheek. “Don't do that. Don't hide from me.”

Part of Tony hated that Steve could do this -- break down his armor. Tear it away like scrap metal and dig to the heart of him, without any effort at all. God, this was stupid. He'd had open heart surgery in a cave without anesthetic, and an oversized mutt from Asgard had him on the verge of tears? Why should he cry over a few puncture wounds? He was a grown man; he didn't need to _cry. _

Then Tony's leg shifted again, and it was white-hot agony he wasn't ready for. A pained moan escaped before he clamped down on it, beating it back with a god damn stick, because this did not need to happen. Not here, not now. Not _ever._

His vision blurred. _Shit._

“I'm sorry, sweetheart.” Steve shushed him, kissing the underside of his jaw. His voice was soft, tender. “I know it hurts.”

And why, _why_ did his stupid boyfriend have to be so _sweet?_ That bottomless compassion and warmth Tony wanted so badly to sink into broke down whatever defenses he had left. The tears came, and he couldn’t stop them anymore. Wasn't even sure he wanted to. He buried his face in Steve's chest, biting his lip against the sobs. At least then, no one would hear. No one would see.

Tony's hands shook where he clenched them in the fabric of Steve's shirt as another wave struck him, leaving him gasping soundlessly.

“Shh…almost there,” Steve murmured, all but crooning in his ear. He held him tighter, stroking Tony’s arm with a thumb. He didn't mention the moisture he could no doubt feel, soaking into his shirt. “You just stay right here with me, Shellhead. Okay?”

He muttered something that might have been an affirmative. Tried to, anyway. The word was small. Vulnerable. Shaking as much as his shoulders were. It was pitiful, and he wanted to take it back. He clung to Steve instead. Exhausted and hurting. Biting his lip so hard he tasted blood.

Somebody approached them at one point, draped a blanket over Tony’s shoulders. Gently. Tenderly enough to make him curious. He couldn’t bring himself to ask who, but they lingered for a moment, placed a hand on his back.

Tony was ashamed. And he knew that knee-jerk reaction was a hang-up that ran deeper than any of them. He was too tired to reason with it now, but he forced himself to reel in the panic. It was fine. _They _were fine.

Tony could argue that the Avengers kept him around for the gadgets he made. The money he had. But he wasn’t deluded enough to believe that. Not anymore. They didn’t just need him -- they wanted him. Cared if he was hurt, or sick. And damned if he could understand why, but it was true.

Vaguely, he was aware of someone sitting next to Steve. They took Tony’s hand, squeezed gently. And he let them, though he still wasn’t looking. Couldn’t see their face with his own so hidden, pressed into Steve’s shirt.

Maybe it didn’t matter.

* * *

As it turned out, Tony's injuries were worse than _‘a few puncture wounds.’_

Thor's piece of shit dog had snapped his fibula clean in half, and fractured his tibia so severely, the doctors were astonished _it_ hadn't snapped too. And as if he didn’t already have enough hardware in his body, they’d had to implant pins in to keep it from healing wrong. It was a bad break, and there was no way to tell for certain until Tony was on his way to recovery, but the doctors seemed optimistic. He’d have to do a little physical therapy, but they thought he’d get off with an occasional limp at worst.

Thor was profusely apologetic. He waited on Tony hand and foot while he was laid up in the hospital, which was as sweet as it was unnecessary. Apparently, he and Hulk had been ‘playing’ with Bilgey the morning of the incident. Tony wasn’t sure what constituted ‘playing’ for a two thousand-pound colossus, but he assumed it involved a lot of violence. They’d gotten bored halfway through and left Thor’s door ajar by mistake, ultimately giving an aggravated bilgesnipe free reign to push it open and unleash his frustrations on the first person he saw.

All things considered, Tony thought it might have been funny a year from now, after they all got some distance from the whole thing, but Steve was _livid. _He’d ended up sitting both Hulk _and _Thor down and gave them the chewing out of a lifetime. Seeing two literal humanoid fortresses hunch-shouldered and submissive in front of a man half their size was one for the books. Hell, hath no fury like a super soldier _pissed_. He’d started out whisper-shouting, and ended in a lecture so long-winded and scathing, Tony couldn’t possibly sleep through it all.

Something about irresponsibility, consideration of others, and so on, and so forth. He’d stopped listening to the words after a while. Still, watching the pinnacle of human perfection march off to war for _Tony_ made him feel unspeakably loved. He waited for Steve to run out of steam, then tugged him down for a kiss so unspeakably loving, he could hear Clint gagging in the background.

A few days after the surgery, they finally discharged Tony. They forced him to sit in a wheelchair on the way out, which was humiliating. Then Steve offered to carry him when they got home, and that was worse. He’d had enough of being carted around like a sack of potatoes. He insisted on stumbling his way to the elevator himself – on crutches, of course. By the time they were up on the penthouse level, his leg ached abominably. When Steve tugged him over to the couch in the living room, he didn’t protest. His lover sat down beside him and stroked his hair until he drifted off, and that almost made everything else worth it.

When he woke, it was unwillingly, and to a world of pain that made his head swim. He shifted his leg on the cushions someone kindly propped beneath it, biting back a groan. His meds must have worn off entirely, because he swore, he could feel every fucking _pin _in the bone, and it was making him nauseous. He gritted his teeth, swallowing hard.

Tony pushed himself carefully into a sitting position, feeling absurdly light-headed. He raised a hand to his forehead, resting back against the couch. He could see the bag containing all his prescriptions on the counter. He bit his lip. Tony really didn’t want to become dependent on those drugs, but…

…oh, _fuck _it, he’d just come home today, and he was hurting. He wanted the drugs.

Where _was _everyone, anyway?

Tony braced both palms on the couch, pushing himself up. Oh, this was _so _not gonna be fun. He was still recovering from hobbling to the elevator, like a fucking invalid. He shifted his cast off the pillows with both hands, biting his lip when his _everything _protested the motion. Before he could get any further, however, he heard footsteps from upstairs. Clint bounded down them, clucking his tongue at Tony when he saw what he was doing.

“Plant that ass, Shellhead. I’m under strict orders not to let you move. You need somethin’, I’m your boy.” Clint spoke with the same lilting ease he always did, though his tone was earnest. Helpful.

Tony would almost rather puke all over the upholstery than admit he could really use that help right now. He swallowed hard, and he’d nearly convinced himself the pain wasn’t _that_ bad when his eyes betrayed him anyway, darting over to the non-descript white bag on the counter. Before he could say anything and make his shame complete, Clint followed his gaze and figured it out himself. His eyes widened, and he glanced at the digital clock on the wall, stricken.

“Shit! Your meds…fuck, hold on. I’ve got it, I’ve got it…”

The archer spun on his heel, seeming genuinely distressed, both for Tony’s well-being and his own. It left the billionaire equal parts amused and touched. His friend bustled around the kitchen, tearing open the prescription bag on the counter and rushing to fill a glass with water.

“You were supposed to take these two hours ago. Steve is gonna _kill _me...”

Tony chuckled, pushing himself up the cushions with a grimace. “He’s not gonna _kill _you.”

“Easy for you to say. Remember our last Christmas party, when that one government stooge threatened you? I thought he was actually gonna toss him off the balcony.”

Tony grinned despite himself. “That was a good night...”

“Or the gala a few months ago, when he told off that crowd of reporters?”

Tony winced. “Pretty sure the entire world remembers that one.”

“Or that time Thor’s bilgesnipe broke your leg, and he literally shouted _God _into submission?”

“_A _God. God of Thunder. Not the singular God you’re implying.” 

The look Clint shot him was so full of disgust, Tony had no choice but to concede his point. He sighed. “All right, all right. So, he’s a little overprotective. Where _is _Steve, anyway?”

Clint waved a hand dismissively, snatching up the supplies and carrying them back to Tony. “Wrecking crew showed up. The others are handling it. I volunteered to baby-sit.”

Tony scowled. He didn’t need a _baby-sitter; _he was perfectly fine by himself for a few hours. He crossed his arms over his chest. “How charitable of you.”

“Aw, come on, man. Don’t be like that.” Clint quipped, though his expression sobered as he sat beside Tony. He handed him the pills, and Tony accepted them, with what he hoped wasn’t a pathetic amount of eagerness. All the same, he wasted no time popping the tablets into his mouth, washing them down before handing the glass back to Clint. He leaned back against the pillows, squeezing his eyes shut.

When he opened them again, Clint was watching him carefully. “You okay?”

Tony took in the archer’s earnest, apologetic expression, and swallowed hard. He clutched at the blankets, hoping his friend couldn’t see his hands shaking. “Yeah. No sweat.”

For a moment, Clint looked like he was going to call Tony on his bullshit. He must have decided it wasn’t worth the effort, because he shrugged instead, settling at the other end of the sofa by Tony’s feet. “Whatever you say. So, Netflix and chill?”

Tony shoved him with his foot. “Netflix, sure, but if you put your arm around me, I _will _sick Steve on you.”

Clint smirked, scrolling through the episode queues. They ended up watching some animated kid’s movie he’d never remember the name of, and by the time the other Avengers stumbled out of the elevator, Tony was warm, drowsy, and mercifully pain free. Clint had even rearranged the pillows around his leg so that it wouldn’t hurt, should someone jar the limb by mistake.

Steve set his shield by the wall and made his way over to Tony’s carefully constructed pillow fort. “There’s my sweetheart.” The super-soldier knelt by his head, kissing his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

Tony gave him a lazy thumbs up, arm flopping back down on the cushions almost before he’d even done anything with it.

Steve’s eyes glimmered with mirth. “Maybe we should dial the drugs back a bit if you’re this out of it, hours after your dose.”

Clint rubbed the back of his head, sheepish. “Uh…yeah, about that. He _might _have just gotten them a half hour ago...”

The super-soldier narrowed his eyes. He rose to his full height, crossing his arms over his chest.

_“…but_ he’s fine now! Right, Tony?”

Tony hummed, nodding emphatically. He tilted his head sideways, gazing at the vein bulging in the middle of Steve’s forehead with a vague sort of wonder.

To his surprise, it wasn’t Steve who acted. Natasha got there first. She reached forward, smacking Clint in the back of the head with enough force to echo off the walls.

“Ow!”

“You had one job, Barton.” She crossed her arms over her chest, arching an eyebrow. “_One.”_

“I _know, _okay?” The archer hung his head, sighing dejectedly.

Tony waved a hand. “Don’t sweat it, bird brain. ’S not the first time I’ve woken up in pain. It won’t be the last.”

His poor boyfriend looked like he might burst a blood vessel. He sighed heavily, head in his hands.

Clint looked genuinely miserable. “Not helpful, Shellhead.”

Tony’s words slurred. “Everybody r’lax. ‘m _fine. Great_. Super-duper.”

Steve climbed into Tony’s blanket nest with him. He made grabby hands at his boyfriend, and the super-soldier pulled him into his lap obligingly. He raised an eyebrow at Clint, motioning down at Tony with a jerk of his head. “How much did you _give _him?”

Clint threw up his hands. “The bottle said one_, _but I felt bad. So, I gave him two. Sue me.”

Bruce – why was he _Bruce_, hadn’t they just been in battle? - picked up the bottle, giving it a little shake. He scrutinized it for a moment, lips turning up at the corners. “That’s a whole lot of hydrocodone. No wonder he’s so happy.”

Tony didn’t see what the problem was here. He felt great. One was good. Two was clearly better. Clint had done him a service, but Steve looked alarmed. He tightened his arms around Tony, voice raised, and oh boy, that was his command tone.

“That’s not gonna _hurt _him, is it?”

“No, no. The dosage itself isn’t inherently dangerous. He’s probably gonna crash though.”

Tony blinked dazedly up at Steve. Steve, who was looking at him with wide, concerned eyes. “Your _face _is frowning,” the billionaire observed, eyelids drooping heavily.

Sam snorted. “I want what he’s having.”

Steve shot him a stern look over Tony’s head. “You sleep now, doll, it’s all right.” The soldier gathered him up, kissed his forehead tenderly.

“Steve?”

Strong fingers carded through his hair. “Hmm?"

“You’re not ‘lowed to kill Clint. Or Sam. Or Thor. Actually, don’ kill…any of ‘em.”

Steve scoffed, though Tony saw his lips twitch. “Darn. There go my evening plans.” His blue eyes twinkled in the dim light of the room. And he gazed down at Tony with a fondness that, even doped up and half asleep, made his breath catch.

Tony smiled lazily up at him, blinks getting longer and longer until finally, opening his eyes seemed like a chore. One he wasn’t at all interested in doing.

That was okay too, Tony thought as he drifted, the Avengers taking up various positions surrounding the couch. Touching his leg, holding his hand. Just being there: warm, comforting presences at his side.

He knew he was safe here, wrapped in Steve’s embrace. With these losers he called home.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm here to remind everyone that crying does not make you weak: say it with me. _ Crying does not make you weak. _
> 
> Also, this isn't actually a whumptober entry, but all I write is whump soooo......
> 
> Really, though. Expect more from me this month. Thanks, everyone! You're all amazing!


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